


Goodnight, Gentlemen

by SilenceIsGolden15



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo 2k18 [16]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: BAMF Coran, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Drowning, Gen, Prompt: Water Torture, Team as Family, Water Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 16:08:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16411655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilenceIsGolden15/pseuds/SilenceIsGolden15
Summary: The Galra think an adviser will be easy to break. They're very, very wrong.





	Goodnight, Gentlemen

**Author's Note:**

> I'm about 99 percent sure my friend requested this as a joke, but it's too late now, you asked for Coran whump and Coran whump is what you're going to get.

The room was cold around him. No doubt a result of the metal, and the fact that the Galra didn’t bother to heat their prisoner cells very much. Galra attitudes towards prisoners had been a point of contention between Zarkon and Alfor long before Voltron, he remembered. 

He sat tall in his chair, chin held high, shoulders back. His fingers were beginning to tingle from being bound behind him, but he wouldn’t worry about it. The paladins would be along presently.

Across the empty room the door slid open and he held very still. A Galra was entering, a commander based on his insignia, followed by two guards heaving in a large vat of liquid. 

“So,” the commander growled as he watched the guards place the vat before the lone chair and its bound occupant. “The Princess’s advisor.”

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Coran chirped. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

A fanged smirk split the commanders wide face. “How polite. Maybe this won’t have to be difficult.”

He paced a few steps closer, waving a hand, and the guards settled into position behind Coran’s chair. He didn’t budge an inch, and didn’t break his eye contact with the brute of a Galra hovering over him. 

“If you have a problem, I’d be happy to assist you.” His mustache twitched.

The Galra chuckled low in his throat. “I’m sure you know all sorts of secrets about Voltron.”

Coran widened his eyes in mock surprise. “You want to know about Voltron? Well, of course. You see it all started many decaphoebs ago, when King Alfor--”

The commander’s hand slammed down on the back of his chair, taunting sneer long gone.

“Don’t play dumb with me, old man,” he snarled, which made Coran frown. He was not old, thank you very much! He’d been barely 247 decaphoebs when the entered the pods.

The commander straightened, and at another gesture the guards moved forward, gripping one of Coran’s shoulders each in iron hands. Coran gazed up at him, unperturbed. 

“How did you and the Princess survive for so long?”

Ah, so they were beginning now. 

Coran tilted his nose in the air. “I’m afraid that information is confidential.”

The Galra snapped his fingers, and without hesitation the guards forced him down, head between his knees and into the vat of water. 

By Altea, it was freezing! Still he didn’t flinch, and didn’t struggle even as three doboshes passed and all three of his lungs began to ache. Eventually they pulled him back up, water droplets flying everywhere, and Coran repressed a shiver while mourning how limp his mustache had become with the liquid. He did not gasp for breath; merely breathed evenly. 

“Now that wasn't very nice!” He exclaimed in faux outrage. “This jacket is one hundred percent Altean silk!”

“How terrible,” the commander mocked. “My deepest apologies.” Then, like a light going out, his face changed again. 

“Where is the Castle of Lions?”

“That information isn’t available at this time. If you’d like a tour--”

He was plunged into the water again. This time it filled his mouth, tepid and nasty, but he swallowed it and remained calm. He’d been trained for this in the Academy, after all. 

Back into the air and this time his breaths came out a bit faster and heavier than before. 

The Galra didn’t bother with banter this time. “How did the Champion escape?”

“I’m sure he’d like to know that as much as you.” 

Back down.

Up, and down, and up, and down again. Holding him ever so slightly longer each time, trying to chip away at him slowly. Coran hummed to himself a bit when he got bored being held under for so long. Eventually it got to the point where he was being drowned for up to five and a half doboshes at a time-- and it was beginning to test even his limits. 

This time was testing the edges of six doboshes. Coran tried his best not to squirm or struggle as his lungs shrieked for air, but he couldn’t stop his fingers from twitching ever so slightly in their bindings. The guards, apparently noticing the tiny change, increased their pressure on his shoulders. 

At six and a half doboshes he couldn’t fight off his body’s reactions anymore. He opened his mouth and breathed in, instantly choking on the water, and a moment later the guards yanked him back up. 

He couldn’t hold back the coughs that wracked out of him, expelling the inhaled water back into the vat. The temperature had begun to take its toll after a dozen or more dunkings and no matter how tightly he clenched his muscles the shivers still fought their way through. 

“Had enough yet, advisor?”

Coran coughed a few more times and swallowed, feeling the ache in his throat. 

“This is nothing compared to the Academy,” he said once he was confident he could without his voice breaking. “Altea trained its soldiers extremely well.”

The commander scowled at him. “Put him under again.”

Three more times he was pushed under, and each time he came back up wracked with coughs and shivers, but still refusing to give any answers to the Galras questions.  

Eventually the commander lost his patience. Leaning in close to Coran’s face, he roared, “Enough games! I could tear you limb from limb if I so chose! You do  _ not  _ want to force my hand!”

Before Coran could answer the quiet cell block was shattered by an alarm. The commander glanced back toward the door, confused, but Coran was already growing a smirk under his damp mustache. 

“I’m very sorry, gentlemen,” he said, “It appears we’ve run out of time.”

In a single rush he pulled his arms apart, breaking the flimsy cuffs he’d been subtly loosening this whole time with his Altean strength. He felt the guards tense as he grasped at one with each hand before yanking them both up and over his head and into the commander. They all fell to the floor in a mess of limbs, knocking the vat over and spilling the water across the floor.

Coran hopped delicately over the mess, striding through the door while whistling a tune.

His ride was here. 

It didn’t take him long to track down the Lions-- he merely had to follow the line of drones rushing to the battle. He was greeted by the heart-warming sight of all five paladins absolutely destroying the army of drones, along with a form in white armed with a staff. He broke into a jog, weaving through the devastation. 

“Allura!”

Her head snapped around, jeweled eyes immediately growing large and shiny. 

“Coran!”

She sprinted to him and crashed into his chest, not seeming to mind the sodden jacket he was wearing, and clung to him with enough strength that he felt his ribs creak. The staff pressed a long cold line over his back.

“Coran,” she said quietly, a small sniffle escaping her. “I’m so glad you’re alright.” Suddenly she pulled back, eyes turning calculating. “You are alright, aren’t you? You’re not hurt?”

Coran smiled and tweaked her chin. “Chin up, Princess. I’m fine.”

Allura drew in a deep, steadying breath and gave him one last squeeze before grasping his elbow and spinning to face the rest of their comrades.

“Paladins, withdraw!”

They immediately obeyed, retreating back towards their parked Lions, and Allura dragged him towards the Blue Lion. She didn’t let go of him for a moment, even when they were safely inside the cockpit. She clung as unyielding as she had when she was small and not wanting her father to go to another cabinet meeting without her. 

Lance was talking up a storm-- so quickly that Coran wasn’t completely sure what he was saying, but the way he kept glancing over his shoulder and sweeping his eyes over him as though to assess his condition told Coran all that he needed to know. He gave the Blue paladin a comforting smile whenever he could catch his eye.

They landed at the Castle and Allura was forced to let go of him to go steer them away from the Galra. However he wasn’t left alone for long; the moment he emerged from the Lion he was being mobbed by both Hunk and Pidge, who crammed him into a hug simultaneously. Hunk was already crying. 

He eventually managed to extricate himself when he convinced Hunk he was hungry and needed something to eat. The Yellow Paladin immediately rushed off to the kitchen, Pidge following after muttering something about sticking a tracker in his clothes, too. He exchanged one more warm grin with Lance, noting with pleasure that his mustache was beginning to dry out, before he too left the hangar. 

Keith had vanished somewhere, but Shiro approached him next with soft concern shining in his eyes. 

“Are you sure you’re alright, Coran?”

Coran answered with a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Quite alright, number two. Just need a change of clothes and I’ll be right as… what’s that Earth thing Lance likes so much? Ah, rain, that’s it!”

Shiro laughed a bit in relief. “Ok, if you say so. You should probably talk to Allura later, she was really worried.”

“Of course.”

Shiro nodded to him and walked away, finally allowing Coran a chance to escape to his room. His jacket was wrinkling and sticking to his skin unpleasantly, but it should be salvageable if he was careful. He would hate to lose one of the last things he had from Altea. 

Turning the corner that led to his quarters, he came to a startled stop at the sight of a person in red leaning against the wall in front of his bunk, arms crossed and head down. 

“Keith? Did you need something?”

Keith startled at his voice and straightened from his slouch. A bit of red tinged his cheeks as he fidgeted and ran a hand through his hair. 

“Oh, uh, no, I-I just…” His arms returned to their crossed position and that seemed to steady him somewhat, as he finished his sentence. “I just wanted to say that I’m glad you’re ok.”

“Of course!” Said Coran, puffing out his chest. “It takes more than a few Galra to bring bring me down.”

Keith gave him a small smile. “Whatever you say. Goodnight, Coran.”

“Goodnight, number four.”


End file.
